


Dumb Kids

by Sneakyfox55



Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Backstory, Banter, Big Brother Sans (Undertale), Brotherly Love, Dissociation, Emotional Baggage, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Inspired by Music, Lack of Communication, Mental Breakdown, Mild Language, POV Second Person, Papyrus (Undertale) Needs a Hug, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Kissing, Platonic Nuzzling, Self-Esteem Issues, Skeleton kisses, Strained Relationships, Undertale Monsters on the Surface, and also less open with their feelings, it's just Undertale Sans and Paps except they're slightly more rude to each other, just a bit, mention of death/violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sneakyfox55/pseuds/Sneakyfox55
Summary: Technically, on the outside, most people would say your relationship with your brother is... Faulty, at best.They're notentirelywrong.It's just that that's a pretty sorry oversimplification of it.
Relationships: Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	Dumb Kids

**Author's Note:**

> so this is pretty much wholly inspired by [this mashup/medley](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydPYNo8o-lI), i just thought it fit these two really well for some reason??
> 
> also, first time writing Underfell WOO
> 
> hope you like it!!

The last time you'd truly comforted your brother over something was when he was seven and you were twelve. He'd all but stormed into the house, a flurry of fury, distress, and shame simultaneously, and for a moment you'd just stood there in the doorway of the kitchen, still trying to assess all three.

Not a lot usually got to Papyrus, even back then. He was erratic, hyperactive, almost, but nothing _bothered_ him. It was something you truly admired him for; no matter harsh this world was, he managed to keep up ~~somewhat of~~ a positive attitude ~~though it might have been for your sake.~~ You were the opposite: negative. Cynical. You didn't say so but almost _everything_ got to you. ~~You're not strong like he is.~~

(And, in a place like the Underground, weakness like that was something unheard of.)

So, in that moment, you weren't sure what to do...

Until you realized he was _hurt_.

He was scowling pitifully, almost, tossing his backpack onto the couch like it was an old sack of sorts. In doing so revealed his shirt had been ripped open, and a couple scratches littered his back.

You knew kids could be cruel.

You knew _everyone_ could be cruel, here.

But you snapped.

"what the Hell did they do."

Papyrus just glanced back at you, not saying a word for a painful moment.

"NOTHING."

Before you could call him out on that lie, he went on in a mumble, "I STARTED IT."

Papyrus despised fighting, you _knew_ that. The mere idea of hurting someone made him queasy, though he tried to tell you the opposite. So either he was lying again, or he'd been provoked, somehow. (But what could have provoked him _that_ badly?)

"c'mere," you ordered, still thoroughly _pissed_ , and he must have sensed it because he hesitated before obeying. Once he was close enough you spun him around, trying ~~desperately~~ to ignore the way he flinched as you moved towards his scratches. "sit still!" you barked harshly instead, entirely contradicting the way your hands gently rested against his back and started applying magic to them.

You weren't great at healing (he was better at it than you, in fact), but you'd been practicing ~~for him~~ for things like this, just in case. You couldn't remove the scratches completely, but you could hinder the pain for a while, at least a little.

Eventually you stepped back, grumbling something to yourself before adding, "we got some monster candy left, that should help the rest."

Papyrus didn't quite look at you, just nodded slightly to let you know he'd heard you. You probably would have written it off, usually (he tended to be quiet like that, sometimes), but considering the context of the situation, you didn't this time. 

...But you also weren't sure you could handle it, right then, so you headed towards the kitchen, searching until you found the candy. Then you headed back out into the living room, only to freak out momentarily upon seeing your brother gone.

"the Hell—" you stammered out. "where'd you go?!"

You whirled around the room, scanning, until your eyesockets fell on a huddled shape under the table. You immediately froze, watching the shape pull an orange-red blanket further around him to conceal him, likely not realizing you'd seen him yet.

Then, you heard a sniffle--just barely audible, but enough to get you into motion.

You made your way over, approaching almost cautiously, like any of your movements could send him running out. Then you crouched down, scooting forward under the table, leaving only a few inches between you two.

Papyrus glanced up almost instantly at your arrival, a bit fearful, but not really because of you, you thought. Maybe because of what you might say. Maybe something else.

But instead of words, you held out your palm to him, bearing the candy. He stared at you inquisitively, and you shrugged. "peace offering."

He continued to stare for a few seconds.

Then he proceeded to not take the candy.

Instead, he scooted forwards over to you this time, and wrapped his arms around you, burying his mandible into your shoulder.

You kind of just... Sat there, trying to process, trying to figure out what to do next.

But, the answer was made clear to you when his hands tightened their grip on your sweater and a shaky sob escaped him.

You wasted no more time and hugged him back, resting your own mandible on the top of his skull.

After that, you never did figure out what exactly happened. He never told you.

But after that day, he seemed set on joining the Royal Guard.

* * *

Even to this day, Papyrus remains Captain of the Royal Guard. Coming to the Surface hasn't changed that. Somehow, he's working harder here than he ever has before; and you're pretty sure you're the only one who can see that.

Your brother's always been secretive about things. You personally know he doesn't tell you much, especially what tends to bother him. This world has done a lot to him, in many ways—he still has his old morals. He still hates fighting. He still has a tendency to give people a chance, even when they don't deserve it.

It was hard keeping those morals obvious, however. Almost always, he had to keep them under wraps, or otherwise he'd been seen as weak ~~just like you~~. He's had to pretend to be strong for the both of you, no matter what. Against his better judgement.

He does it for you. Always.

On surface level, it would seem Papyrus is cold towards you. Distant. Sometimes he makes it seem like he hates you, in front of others. ~~You wish he did.~~

But he's the only reason you're still here.

You miss when he'd let you comfort him—let you in, let you be a part of what he's going through. But you also understand why that's not the case.

You still understand, even on the Surface. Old habits die hard. You yourself have your fair share of secrets, and you have a difficult time trusting people.

Above all, you want Papyrus to be happy. He truly deserves it. ~~Not like you.~~

Maybe it will just take a while for that to happen.

You'll wait.

* * *

It's storming pretty heavily outside, right now. You hate storms, but you hate the rain more so. The sun seems to disappear during such, and it's cold. Not freezing-cold, just... A discomforting, damp cold, soaking through your bones. ~~It reminds you too much of back then.~~

You do manage to make the best of it, somehow. And by that I mean you spend your time indoors usually, lounging around, probably watching those stupid soap operas on TV. Or game shows. Sometimes those are fun.

It's getting late, though. You're anything but relaxed this time. It's been a couple of hours since Papyrus first left—something about him being needed for a thing—and while that's normally not a bad thing, the problem is you haven't heard from him in at least one of those hours. He usually calls you, or, if he doesn't have the time, he'll text.

...Still. He's probably fine. He always is. He can handle himself.

~~But you can't help it.~~

~~You're scared.~~

~~You always are when these things happen.~~

~~Wondering if he'll come home this time.~~

~~Wondering if this is the time they'd got him, somebody got the drop on him and he wasn't able to react quickly enough, or he didn't see it coming, or they were stronger than him somehow.~~

~~They were out to kill this time, not just to mess with him, they were trying to gain EXP, get even stronger.~~

~~He wouldn't have seen him coming, maybe--maybe he spared them, at first, maybe he gave them a chance, he does that sometimes, if he can--maybe he thought they were good, maybe they pretended to be. Maybe he trusted them.~~

~~Maybe they got him.~~

~~Maybe he wouldn't come home, this time.~~

~~He'll never come home again.~~

~~You'll never see him again.~~

~~You'll never get to hold him again.~~

~~Your baby brother's gone.~~

~~He's...~~

The door slams open, and you spin around, pure relief pooling into your soul when you see your brother walk through into the house...

...Then the relief drops.

Papyrus closes the door behind him, leaning against it briefly, his legs shaking even without putting pressure on them. His entire being looks ragged, but he actively seems to ignore it, standing up straight again a moment later. He spares you a glance, but says nothing, striding over to the kitchen hastily.

(This feels familiar.)

Simply put, you're not very good at this kind of thing. So you do what you know best.

"somethin' wrong, boss?" you jab, using that old nickname just to mess with him. Maybe he'll make an obvious show of ignoring you. Maybe he'll tell you to shut up, like he always does, but not truly mean it. Maybe he'll jab back.

...

He doesn't do any of that.

Just stares at you from behind the kitchen island, almost calculatingly. Looking almost...

~~Shaken? Angry? Appalled?~~

"...uh... heh, you, uh... you okay, b—"

"DON'T CALL ME THAT."

...

What?

His scowl deepens, but he avoids your gaze as he says his next words:

"PLEASE. NEVER CALL ME THAT AGAIN."

You stare at him, until he turns away, going to pull open the fridge.

What was _that_ about?

On the one hand, you can leave him be. Maybe it's just a mood he's in. It'll probably blow over. He'll be fine.

But.

On the other hand,

he's your brother.

He's clearly bothered by something. ~~You don't want to see him hurting.~~

And you may be a sorry excuse for a source of comfort, but damn you if you don't try.

"get over here."

As you expect, Papyrus stops mid-cutting-of-vegetables, looking up to face you eyesocket-to-eyesocket. He practically glares at you, albeit seemingly out of confusion and some type of ~~fear~~ apprehension.

"WHAT?" is all he can force out.

"get over here," you repeat, pointing with one of your skeletal fingers at the floor in front of you. He follows the direction of your finger, then chuckles ~~nervously~~.

"WHAT, ARE YOU PLANNING ON FIGHTING ME?"

"ya know i couldn't."

"EXACTLY, SO WHY TRY?"

"would ya shut up?" you snap. "i'm not gonna fight you; now get over here before _i_ come over there."

You meet his glare with one of your own, refusing to back down. He steps away from the counter, carefully; you zero-in on his movements and watch him like a hawk, noting the way he's favoring one of his legs.

"what. the f—"

"LANGUAGE."

"did you bust your leg or somethin'?!"

"NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS."

"bullcrap, get _over_ here!"

He lets out halfway between a sigh and a groan, before _finally_ listening to you and reluctantly trudging his way back into the living room. He obviously tries to cover up whatever injury he has by walking quickly, and if you hadn't been paying attention you might not even have noticed it at all—but you are. And you can see him limping, even if slightly.

Once he's in range, you shove him down onto the couch, earning an indignant squawk from him. "WH—"

"lie down and show me your leg."

"SANS—"

"lie down and show me your damn leg, 'm not askin'!"

He does so, crossing his arms as he pointedly shoves his left leg towards you. You roll your eyes at him before proceeding to pull his boot off and rolling up his pants, pausing halfway through.

Your eyelights falter in your sockets.

You trace over the cracks littering his fibula and tibia just barely, shying away somewhat when you hear him hiss in pain. Still, you don't let him pull away, and gently rest your hands over the cracks.

"what happened?" you ask, voice uncharacteristically soft. He pointedly looks off to the side.

"...NOTHING."

"'s clearly not nothing." You adjust carefully until you're sitting on the couch opposite of him, his leg resting in your lap as you start to feel the healing magic pool through your fingers, into his own bones.

"NO, IT'S... IT'S REALLY NOTHING. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT."

Your sharp grin twists down further into a frown. "who did this to you?"

"NO ONE," he affirms, his eyesockets drooping, suddenly looking weary.

"i bet my ass, who—"

" _NO ONE_."

You stop, watching his hands start to clench, gripping his forearms tightly.

"IT WAS... AN ACCIDENT. THERE WERE THESE MONSTERS, THEY—... ROBBERY. STOLE SOMETHING FROM A HUMAN. A NICE HUMAN LADY. I THINK IT WAS HER PURSE?" He shakes his head slightly before shifting, involuntarily moving his legs, so you have to keep the one in place. "I DON'T REMEMBER, BUT—THEY WERE FAST, I—I WAS GOING TO CATCH THEM THOUGH, NO ONE ELSE COULD. I CAUGHT UP WITH THEM, I THINK. THEY USED MAGIC ON ME."

"then clearly that's—those guys did it to you, right—?"

"NO. I SENT THEM IN TO THE POLICE. THEY DIDN'T HARM ME."

Confused, you pause in your healing, looking at your brother intently now.

"...then how did it..."

"They knew me."

His voice drops.

"They—knew me from back—they saw what I did, all the things I—"

"woah, woah, hey," you sense his rising panic, gripping his leg somewhat tighter, "you didn't do nothin' wrong, Paps, you didn't..."

"They saw how I treated you, they saw—how I hurt you—"

"no, no, they probably didn't, bro. those were just rumors, remember? just..."

"I don't want to hurt you, Sans. I don't. I—I want you to be safe, I want—"

"i am safe, Pap."

"No no, not with—not with me, I—I always hurt you, I always—I—"

"Papyrus..."

"You're not safe, Sans. It's not safe here. It's not—"

You drop his leg carefully back onto the cushion, then stand up, making your way over to his end of the couch.

"You should leave—"

You cut him off, cupping the sides of Papyrus's head with your hands, lifting his head up just slightly.

"'m not going anywhere," you murmur, pressing your teeth to his skull.

His hands still dig into his arms, painfully, shakingly, so you coax him away from that with one of your own hands. His eyes flicker up towards your face, tears at the edge of his vision.

Then he sits up, trying to move away from you, obviously not wishing to be comforted still. You quickly jump onto the couch anyway and tug him closer, wrapping your arms around him so he can't flee. He makes some sort of frustrated protest but you ignore it, reaching up to give his skull another kiss.

"i love you," you tell him, "i love you, Papy. you could never hurt me."

"But I—"

"shh. just stay here a sec, will you?"

"...Okay."

Satisfied with his answer, you nuzzle your cheekbone against his forehead, then replace that by bumping your teeth to the same spot. "you're not bad, okay? you're not. you're not a bad brother, you're a great one, promise. 'm safe 'cause of you. nobody knows what they're talkin' 'bout, okay? i love you."

He hesitates, just briefly.

"I love you, too."

And he hugs you back, pressing his own teeth to your skull, nuzzling you in return.

"Love you too, brother," he mumbles.

You don't remember when you pull away; for all you know, you might've fallen asleep in that hold, as you don't remember when the rain stopped. Eh, not like you care.

You maneuver out of Papyrus's arms, trying not to wake him up (heh, that's a first), then lean to grab the remote from the coffee table.

...

Technically you could do something more productive. It'd probably do both of you good, honestly. In fact, you haven't cooked in a while, maybe you can help him with...

...

Nah.

You strive to be a good brother but not _that_ good.

Maybe another day.

Maybe when it's sunny or something.

Maybe tomorrow.

You flick the TV on, and hop back onto the couch, readjusting yourself back against your brother's side, pulling a blanket off the floor and haphazardly throwing it over you both.

Yeah...

Nice thought back there, but, uh.

This is better.


End file.
